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“No,” said Yakoff, “why should we trouble her? But I will take her a ring from Mitrofany’s hand.”

Thereupon I was greatly encouraged. “See to it,” I said, “that thou takest a silver ring, not a gold one,–not a wedding-ring!”

My Yakoff flushed up and merely repeated that it was not proper to trouble her, but immediately assented to all the rest.–We went to the cathedral on the following day; my Yakoff made his confession, and prayed so fervently before it! And then he went forward to take the communion. I was standing a little to one side, and did not feel the earth under me for joy…. It is no sweeter for the angels in heaven! But as I look–what is the meaning of that?–My Yakoff has received the communion, but does not go to sip the warm water and wine![25] He is standing with his back to me…. I go to him.

FOOTNOTE:
[25]
In the Catholic Church of the East the communion is received fasting. A little to one side of the priest stands a cleric holding a platter of blessed bread, cut in small bits, and a porringer of warm water and wine, which (besides their symbolical significance) are taken by each communicant after the Holy Elements, in order that there may be something interposed between the sacrament and ordinary food.–TRANSLATOR.

“Yakoff,” I say, “why art thou standing here?”

He suddenly wheels round. Will you believe it, I sprang back, so frightened was I!–His face had been dreadful before, but now it had become ferocious, frightful! He was as pale as death, his hair stood on end, his eyes squinted…. I even lost my voice with terror. I tried to speak and could not; I was perfectly benumbed…. And he fairly rushed out of the church! I ran after him … but he fled straight to the tavern where we had put up, flung his wallet over his shoulder, and away he flew!

“Whither?” I shouted to him. “Yakoff, what aileth thee? Stop, wait!”

But Yakoff never uttered a word in reply to me, but ran like a hare, and it was utterly impossible to overtake him! He disappeared from sight. I immediately turned back, hired a cart, and trembled all over, and all I could say was: “O Lord!” and, “O Lord!” And I understood nothing: some calamity had descended upon us! I set out for home, for I thought, “He has certainly fled thither.”–And so he had. Six versts out of the town I espied him; he was striding along the highway. I overtook him, jumped out of the cart, and rushed to him.

“Yasha! Yasha!”–He halted, turned his face toward me, but kept his eyes fixed on the ground and compressed his lips. And say what I would to him, he stood there just like a statue, and one could just see that he was breathing. And at last he trudged on again along the highway.–What was there to do? I followed him….

Akh, what a journey that was, my dear sir! Great as had been our joy on the way to Voronezh, just so great was the horror of the return! I would try to speak to him, and he would begin to gnash his teeth at me over his shoulder, precisely like a tiger or a hyena! Why I did not go mad I do not understand to this day! And at last, one night, in a peasant’s chicken-house, he was sitting on the platform over the oven and dangling his feet and gazing about on all sides, when I fell on my knees before him and began to weep, and besought him with bitter entreaty:

“Do not slay thy old father outright,” I said; “do not let him fall into despair–tell me what has happened to thee?”

He glanced at me as though he did not see who was before him, and suddenly began to speak, but in such a voice that it rings in my ears even now.